


Rebound

by magisterpavus



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Cuddling & Snuggling, Drunken Kissing, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Miscommunication, Mutual Pining, Past Adam/Shiro (Voltron), Post-Break Up, just bros bein bros
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-06
Updated: 2019-08-06
Packaged: 2020-08-10 04:37:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,566
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20129467
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/magisterpavus/pseuds/magisterpavus
Summary: His name is Shiro, he wears a black snapback, and he’s ruining Keith’s life.He’s also the best thing in Keith’s life, but admitting that feels a little too close to admitting that he’s in love with his best friend.His best friend, Shiro, who is currently climbing him like a fucking tree.





	Rebound

**Author's Note:**

> this is the PREQUEL to "just friends," which you can read here if you haven't already and which will probably give you a more satisfying conclusion to this story: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18530611
> 
> I had a lot of fun writing this at the request of some particularly lovely readers, as always check out my twitter [@saltyshiro](https://twitter.com/saltyshiro), especially the bio where there are many links to more sheith content from me! 
> 
> without further ado, here's two best friends who are definitely just friends. kissing. like friends do. enjoy!

His name is Shiro, he wears a black snapback, and he’s ruining Keith’s life.

He’s also the best thing in Keith’s life, but admitting that feels a little too close to admitting that he’s in love with his best friend. 

His best friend, Shiro, who is currently climbing him like a fucking tree.

Keith tears away from his greedy mouth, though he wants nothing less in the world, and gasps, “Dude, are you okay?”

Shiro stares at him with blown-out pupils and glassy eyes. Keith’s head spins; he has no clue how many shots Shiro’s had, but the answer is probably too many. The bar is old and sorta seedy; it’s been here as long as the saguaros outside. He and Shiro are crammed in the far corner booth, away from prying eyes, but Shiro is being rowdy enough that other patrons are starting to notice, and Keith doesn’t want this night to end with a black eye. 

He could have chosen a better venue than the redneck bar in the middle of nowhere that his dad used to frequent on weekends – he’d always bring back soda and wings for Keith. It’s a good memory, but Keith desperately pushes any and all thoughts of his late father away when Shiro grinds down on him, half in Keith’s lap already.

Keith didn’t think of anything other than finding a place to escape to when Shiro showed up at their dorm apartment, eyes red from crying and mouth twisted in a way that suggested he was trying not to burst into tears again. 

Keith could recognize someone who’d just gotten dumped when he saw them, especially when that someone was Shiro. He and Adam had been on thin ice for weeks. It wasn’t exactly a shock. But of course, it was for Shiro. He’d been adamant about fixing things, about salvaging the situation somehow, because that was who he was. He thought he could make it right, even when Adam texted him ‘k.’ five times in the same week. It was the lack of capitalization that really spelled out the end, in Keith’s opinion.

So, Keith had just tugged Shiro into a firm hug, grabbed his keys, and announced he was driving them somewhere. The first thing that came to mind was Sal’s. Hell, he didn’t think  _ this  _ was gonna happen. Not in a million years. 

And it’s – it’s pretty fucked up, if Keith stops to think about it. He doesn’t wanna be a rebound. But he also wants to kiss Shiro, has  _ wanted _ to kiss Shiro, for forever. He thinks he kissed Shiro first, when he was leaning down over him and saying something stupid sappy, but can’t quite remember. Keith barely drank, because if nothing else, he’s gonna get Shiro home safe. But he feels drunk from kissing Shiro all the same.

Keith pulls away again, more sternly. “Shiro,” he demands. “What are you  _ doing?” _

Shiro pouts, actually pouts at him. “Kissin’ you,” he slurs. Keith’s belly dips. It should be illegal for Shiro to sound even hotter when drunk. “You kissed me first – thought –” His face pinches up. “You don’t want me to kiss you, huh.”

Keith backtracks. “No, no,” he stammers, and, shit, he may be a bit tipsy, actually, “it’s okay, Shiro, I just –” He swallows. “We’re, um. You’re my best friend, man. I don’t wanna be your rebound. Yeah?”

Shiro eyes widen, and then he’s – he’s petting Keith’s hair. Man, what the fuck. His expression is all open and earnest when he leans in and whispers, “You’re _ not _ a rebound, Keith. You’re  _ my _ best friend, too. I just – just wanted to kiss you, and thought you were into it, but…”

“I am,” Keith says, too fast, “into it. Yeah. It’s – it’s cool.”

Shiro smiles, relieved and absurdly happy. “It’s cool?” he repeats. “You sure?”

“Totally sure,” Keith sighs, ignoring the knot in the pit of his stomach. With any luck, Shiro won’t remember this shit at all in the morning. 

The bartender is giving them the side-eye, now. Keith can take a hint, even if Shiro is oblivious and trying to lick at his lips like a freak. Maybe Shiro is a freak in the sheets, Keith wouldn’t be surprised. He has that look about him, like he could either be vanilla as hell or a kinky motherfucker. 

Keith fervently hopes he’s the latter, then sharply reprimands himself, because it’s not like  _ he’ll _ ever know. Some innocent kissing and slightly less innocent grinding is – that’s nothing. They’re friends. They’re college bros. They’re  _ roommates.  _ It’s – it’s fine. Normal, even. Sure.

As Keith is hauling Shiro out, the bartender, to his credit, calls, “You boys need any help gettin’ home?”

“Nah, we’re good, but thanks,” Keith calls over his shoulder. He’s not confident he can drive back to campus tonight, especially not with a clingy drunk Shiro in tow, but he does know a place that’s much closer.

_ “Keeeee,” _ Shiro whines, trailing off like he’s forgotten the last couple consonants. “Where’re we goin’, huh?”

“Trust me,” Keith sighs, tugging his elbow and manhandling him into shotgun. “Somewhere safe, okay?”

Shiro sits in what looks like a deeply uncomfortable position, face smushed up against the busted leather headrest and legs tangled like he can’t figure out how to fit his damn bulk into the damn seat. “I trust you,” Shiro mumbles, “but — hey. Keith. Keith.  _ Keith —” _

Keith turns the key in the ignition and gives him a look. “Oh my god,  _ what?” _

Shiro scrunches up his nose. “Are you mad ‘cause I kissed you?”

Keith pauses, sitting there with him in the dark, dusty parking lot, engine idling in a dull roar. “No,” he whispers. “It’s okay, Shiro. Why wouldn’t it be?”

Shiro’s eyes are wide and shining in the dark. “Didn’t know if you were — y’know.”

“Gay?” Keith snorts. “For such a smart guy, you can be kinda clueless, ‘Kashi.”

“Well, are you?” Shiro demands, in a way he never would if he was sober.

Keith frowns down at the steering wheel. “I kissed you back, didn’t I?” The truth is, Keith doesn’t know. He’s never felt much in the way of wanting to fuck, or wanting to date — before Shiro, anyway. 

The irony is that Shiro is one of Altea State’s biggest sluts, if popular rumors are anything to go by. He’s a junior now, but apparently freshman Shiro was legendary enough that the rumors persisted even after he’d gotten into a committed relationship. 

This is common knowledge. It was probably partly what led to his breakup with Adam, even though Keith  _ knows _ Shiro would never cheat on someone. He’s a good guy. He’s just — got incredibly horny energy, and Keith is but a simple mortal who’s felt a little off balance in his presence since they first met two years back. 

(Keith, unfortunately, was not around to witness Shiro’s freshman year antics – he transferred to Altea State as a sophomore, mere months after Shiro cleaned up his act.)

Shiro slumps back in the seat. “That's not an answer.”

“It’s not important,” Keith says, hoping his tone stops any further debate short, and hits the gas. The car tears out of the little parking lot and down the empty, endless highway. Shiro is quiet. Keith tries to turn on the radio to fill the unbearable quiet, but they’re so far out that all he gets is crackling static. 

Shiro presses his face to the window. “Wow,” he mumbles. “So many stars out here.”

Keith relaxes a little. “Yeah,” he agrees. “You can see the Milky Way, on clear nights.”

_ “Cool.”  _ Shiro hums. The silence is more comfortable, after that.

*

It doesn’t take long before Keith finds the familiar pull-off into the desert scrub, towards the little house he grew up in. Shiro makes a low, confused sound when he sees it. “Please don’t murder me in the middle of the desert,” he jokes.

“Why would I murder you?” Keith huffs, turning off the car and getting out, only to walk around and help Shiro out. 

Shiro slumps into him. “Because I’m a bad friend,” he says into Keith’s shoulder. 

Keith stops walking. “Hey,” he says, quietly, “you’re not. Why would you think that?”

Shiro makes a sound that sounds suspiciously like a sniffle.  _ Oh, no, _ Keith thinks, and focuses all two remaining brain cells on opening the door and bundling Shiro inside before the tears start rolling. They make it onto the overstuffed sofa, which is to say, Keith makes it on there, and Shiro flops dramatically over his lap. Keith blinks stupidly down at him. 

Why did God have to make Takashi Shirogane’s back so broad? Keith takes it as a personal affront, right up until Shiro turns his face into Keith’s thigh and starts outright sobbing.

“Shiro,” Keith says, at a complete loss for words. Shiro doesn’t look up. His hair is a mess, the fluffy forelock soft under Keith’s uncertain fingers. Keith’s swallow clicks in his throat as Shiro stills and quiets under his touch. “Did Adam say you were a bad friend?”

“Adam said a lot of things,” Shiro mumbles, and lifts his head, sitting up abruptly like he’s suddenly decided his dignity is important. Keith is unswayed. They’re way past dignity. “He said – I care more about school and parties than him. And he could deal with it when I was – when I was sick, but after I got better, he thought I’d...be a better boyfriend.” Shiro puts his head in his hands.

Keith, carefully, lays his hand on Shiro’s shoulder. He doesn’t know much about Shiro’s previous condition. He hasn’t asked, and he figures Shiro will tell him when he’s ready, if he ever is. If not, that’s okay, too. All Keith knows is that by some miracle, a congenital condition that should have been terminal was found to be treatable and curable in Shiro, and last year, he’d gotten the all clear, at the cost of his right arm. 

Keith remembers celebrating with him as brand new roommates in a late-night Taco Bell run. To some it might have seemed anticlimactic, but Shiro had probably celebrated with his family enough – Keith could understand simply wanting to appreciate life with a friend and some tacos. And maybe Shiro knew, even then, that Keith wouldn’t ask questions he didn’t want to answer. The only thing Shiro said about it, after a long and thoughtful sip of his Baja Blast, was, “It’s weird. I don’t really know what to do with myself, now.”

Keith had looked at him, chin in hand, pausing mid-bite. “Whatever you want,” he said. 

Now, he squeezes Shiro’s shoulder and says, “You were a great boyfriend.”

Shiro shakes his head. “No, he – he had a point. After I got better, I just – I didn’t want to stop working, because I realized, you know, that I could finally be working towards something, long-term. And I didn’t always have time for him. I should’ve, I wanted to, I tried to invite him to parties but he always said no, he isn’t a party person –”

Shiro is panicking. Keith squeezes his shoulder again, harder. “Shiro, hey. That’s not your fault. You invited me to parties, too, and I’m not a party person –”

“But you always said yes.” Shiro peers at him with red eyes. “Why, Keith? You hate parties.”

Keith shrugs. “Well, you were there.” He forces a smile and does not think about Shiro’s lips on his. “You make it bearable.”

Shiro gives him a small smile. “Just bearable, huh?”

“Occasionally fun,” Keith adds, nudging him playfully. “Sometimes.”

Shiro rolls his eyes, and slumps back onto the sofa. “A glowing review.”

“Just being honest.”

Shiro glances at him. His smile is softer, this time. “Yeah,” he murmurs. “You always are. Thanks for that.”

Sober Keith wouldn’t know what to do with Shiro staring at him dark and besotted, inches away on the sofa from Keith’s childhood. Tipsy Keith knows exactly what to do, and tries to kiss him again.

But Shiro turns his head at the last second. Keith’s kiss lands barely on the corner of his mouth, and his cheeks flame as he jerks away. Shiro doesn’t stop looking at him, but this time, it’s apologetic. He doesn’t say what Keith expects him to –  _ I’m sorry, but I don’t feel that way about you, _ or  _ It was no homo before, but now you’ve gone and made shit weird.  _ Shiro just says, “I’m tired, Keith. Time for that later, yeah?”

Keith blinks at him in bewilderment. He has no idea what that means, but he nods, and rises from the sofa. “Right. Sure. Um – bedroom’s over here.”

Shiro follows him quietly down the short hall. The house is almost embarrassingly small. Keith doesn’t remember it being this small. He wonders if it seems that way now that Shiro is here. Deep down, he knows it was always this way. It was big enough for the two of them, then...but things change. People leave.

He opens the bedroom door. It’s dark, and Keith doesn’t dare to turn on the light, afraid to break the strange spell cast by the darkness and the drink. It was his dad’s bedroom; Keith keeps the bed made and the room tidy like he has for years. He gestures vaguely. “You can sleep here, I’ll be out on the couch if you need anything –” 

Shiro catches his wrist as he turns to go, and Keith freezes. “Stay with me,” he mumbles. “It’s a big bed.”

It’s barely a double. 

Shiro takes his hesitation as rejection and lets go. “You don’t have to,” he says. “Sorry.”

Keith hugs him. Shiro makes a low, startled sound. “Don’t be sorry,” he whispers. “I’ll stay. If – if you want.”

They sway slightly together, locked in quiet embrace. “I do,” Shiro says. His breath tickles Keith’s ear. “If you want.”

“I want.”

Keith says it too fast, maybe. Shiro laughs. It’s a nice sound. It’s even nicer when he hugs Keith back. “Okay,” he says. “Okay.”

That’s how they end up in bed together. Nothing happens. Nothing except for Shiro wrapping his arm around Keith’s waist and tucking his face into Keith’s hair.

“You like my hair, huh,” Keith mumbles. His face is pressed right up in Shiro’s pecs, and he’ll deny it in the morning, but for now he’s floating and Shiro is the warmest thing he’s ever felt. 

“Yeah,” Shiro agrees, unexpected and breathy. “I like you.”

Keith closes his eyes, wills his pounding heart to slow the fuck down and stop getting its hopes up. “I like you, too, man,” he replies. “So much.”

He thinks he imagines it when Shiro’s dry lips land on his forehead, brushing his skin featherlight, easy to play off as an accident. “Goodnight,” Shiro says. “You’re a good friend, Keith. I’m so damn lucky to have you.”

“Shuddup,” Keith whispers. “You too. Go to sleep, before the hangover catches up with you.”

Shiro doesn’t reply. He’s already out.

Keith looks at the stars out the window, just over Shiro’s shoulder. The starlight glints off his right arm. He listens to Shiro’s breathing even out, watches the way the lines in his face smooth away in slumber. 

It’s only when Keith’s sure Shiro is dreaming that he lets himself reach out and slip his fingers through Shiro’s, holding his hand and wondering about the gravity of drunken kisses.


End file.
